
THKOUGH THE MIST 



HAKOLD F. BAKBEK 



Class 




10 /y^/ 



GopightE' 



l^/Z 



CQPmiQm DEPOSIT. 



THROUGH THE MIST 



Six Glimpses of Nature 



by 



HAROLD F. BARBEK 



t5 3^°3^ 



Copyright 1912 

by 

HAROLD F. BARBER 



©CI,A328869 



Foreword 

In printing these little mood'crystals, 1 am yielding to the re 
quests of some of my friends — " spiritual collaborators by consent" 

— realizing fully that few there be to whom they will mean much. 

Words, after all, are difficult material ; they are bits of mosaic 

— each has its own definite color and precision of shape. But the 
artist must choose and arrange so that the finished picture will pos- 
sess, to the greatest possible degree, the softness of shading, the 
beauty of line and color, of a painting. 

To those fe\A/ whose vision is such as to discover beauty 
herein, this little volume is dedicated : and to all such I extend my 
thanks for the opportunity of adding, in some slight measure, to the 
beauty that is in the world. 

H. F. B. 



NOCTURNE 

THE LITTLE KIVEK 

THE GREAT HILLS 

CLAIK DE LUNE 

OCTOBEK WINE 

CREPUSCULE 



Nocturne 

The music went en, a wild passion in the 
sound ; with a persistent, resonant throb' 
bing under all. Great, jat^ged rocks were in 
it, tall ciiifs 'gainst which the sea dashed 
high its flying spray; while from above the 
moon looked down in calm serenity. 

The pas- ion of the recks, of the moon, of the throbbing sea — 
'tis the passion of my heart ! 

The music ceased, but what a harmony the soul 
retains ! NA/hat a horrid ciainor would be the speech 
of man, or the written word, or the presence 
of a fellow'creature 1 

There is no :rue speech but the song of the sea, or the thun- 
dering tones of the frowning cliffs, or the benediction of the 
moon. 

Let me forget the complex day, the pollutions of mortality ; 

let me shake off the obscure veil of every-day existence ; let 

me un shamed draw near to the great Mother-heart, and know from 

whence 1 sprung. 

Nature-Mother, this thy child is a mortal, his nature is but 
human nature, but to-night he is at one with thee. 

O Mother, we thy children have forsaken thee to follow strange 
gods of our own fancying. Once we worshipped thee alone, at 
the rising of the sun, in the great forest, by the sea, or under 
the moon and the starry skies. 

Teach us, thy children, yet again "thine ancient wisdom and 
austere control," the eternal miracle of thy beauty, ever 
changing, never waning ; teach us yet again, thou God-Mother ; 
for we are flesh of thy flesh, spirit of thy spirit ; thou the 
fount, unpolluted and pure. 



The Little River 

Huih! Why is everything so still? 
The little river is dead ! 

Quietly she lies in her bed, with the brown leaves of Auturr.n 
strewed about her, with the bare branches bending sorrowfully 
over h.tr resting-place. She that of old was so carefree, with her 
joy in the bright Summer weather ; she who in her dark beauty 
showed so clearly her pleasure of the happy blue sky and the bright 
little clouds which continually smiled on her; she whc wore the 
white lilies on her breast that bright June morning, is dead. 

There is no motion of her breast, not a stir of the little hands 
which reach out into the shore here and there ; and how pale and 
gray she has grown I " Death-stiSl, life-sweet," — how terribly 
still I And yet, 

I am glad that the liit!^ river is dead. Oh, friend of my 

Summer da>'s, m^. heart also is dead. 



The Great HiHs 

up, up, up through the sifting snow, in the unearthly stillness 
of the great firs, where only a breath of the raging tempest can 
penetrate. Up, up, and still up, laboriously forging ahead. The 
ancient moss on the timcol? tree-trunks, the solid shapes of the 
snow-laden firs, and the faint sighing of the storm in the topmost 
bra'iches, far, far above, all weavv* a silence which penetrates the 
soul. 

Up, up, until the trees grow smaller and smaller, while the 
wind and snow continually increase ;n violence, and the cold is 
more piercingly felt. 

At last the border of the tree-kingdom is reached — not a sen' 
tinel stands out beyond this line, above which lies the Empire of 
the Upper Air. Up there the earth and the forces of the air are 
supreme in all their wild and primal strength. 

No vegetation appears above the snow, wind-packed hard as 
ice — no shelter ; the cold seeks out zy^ry crack and crevice, and 
the screaming, screeching tempest blows the storm-arrows like shot 
against the face. 

Great rocks are piled high, falling ofi^ sheer into gorges hun' 
dreds of feet below ; sharp ridges lead straight up to the wind- 
scoured summits of the Pyramids of Time— sharp ridges, which 
jut from the earth's up-hcaved crust straight out into the elements 
sweeping over them in di bolical fury. All the forces of the upper 
air are ruardin^ the Spirit of the Great Hills in its holy of holies 
against the foot of man. 

A wild feeling of battle comes over me as I take up the final 
struggle to the goal Leaning hard against the force of the sleet, 
and covering my face to prevent its freezing, I shout defiance at 
the top of my lungs ; and though the blasphemy is smothered at my 
lips by the wind-guardian, I know that no defense of Nature ever 
yet withstood the will of Man the Mortal. 



Clair De Lune 

The moon at its full splendor on a royal winter's night — a 
night with only enough frost to more sharply define the outline of 
its circle and to take away all trace of gold, leaving only silver 
white in its magic shining. 

Snow below to catch each sil/er beam and keep it alive, fill' 
ing the glade below the tall trees with a wonderful unearthly light 
— bright above, ghostly below, down through the hollows of the 
little rounded hills. 

As I look full into that Face of Beauty I sink to my knees, then 
full on my back in the snow, held by the magic of that Face above 
me with its spell so soft, yet so powerfully insistent. 

involuntarily 1 catch my breath and open wide my arm-;, lying 
there with every muscle relaxed, almost panting with — WHAT ? 



October Wine 

In October Mother Earth serves wine to her children. There 
are those who drink ""' / ^"' others become fairly drunken with 
the red and yellow wines of the trees, and the strong spirits of the 
keen, clear air ; and these have visions not easily) forgotten. 

A hard rain had ceased with ihe dawn, and the day broke 
clear and cold — the first day of tliat season called by man 
" October." 

All the air was peopled by the autumn'fairies, who, riding on 
the strong west wind, chased leaves and bits of paper along the 
city streets, and sang and laughed derisively as they shouted to the 
city folk of approaching Winter. 

But outside the town, in th-s fields and woods, they were as 
happy as happy could be, and the mocking laughter with which 
they told of Winter in the city gave way to sheer delight at fir ding 
themselves in their old familiar playgrounds once more. 

The morning air was washed clean as a lens of purest glass 
to magnify each tiny leaf and blade, and each had its fairy who 
jumped up and down in glee, singing his little elfin song, " Sec my 
little red leaf — red, red, red ! " " Not that fellow, mine is yellow, 
I chose this instead ! " 

"These little transient leaves so gay, live a day, then fall 
away ; but each year I come here to play upon this dear old stump 
of gray." 

" Blueberry bushes grow all about, for fairies to skip on and 
dance and shout — and each the identical crimson shade, isn't it 
\\onderful how they are made ! " — these and many another little 
elf'Song they sang. 

A band of them were squeezing the scent from sweet fern 
and juniper by the path ; another merry crowd were pulling off 
yellow pine'needles and throwing them down helter'skelter so that 



they stuck up in all directions ; and what hosts of them were danc 

ing on the river, laughing in the sunlight, singing ard shouting A 

for joy! ^ 

Their song was Ioud^3t bec;\u';.? there VA'as so many ot them / 
but each and every one ©f all the fairies, though singing his own 
little song, whether of gray blade, or brown leaf, or yet scarlet or 
gold ; whether of sober stump or golden sunlight or blue water or 
white cloud, each sang in c\^ same key as all the others, so that the 
whole earth was fiiled with the sound as of one great chord of 
majestic harmony. 

And I came among my feUows. and the w'ne died out in 
me, so that I saw no more visions. 



Crepuscule 

Beyond the expanse of loiip; thin mar-^h-grass, matted by the 
cold gray wind cf Autumn, is a bordering of black pines, sil- 
houetted in the afterglow ; low and black, a continuous line. 
The tinted sky above bears little detached mafses of driving 
clouds, scurrying onward, s .vift ^nd inevitable. 

(The cold gray wkid fills the air with a faint 
s'shing from tlie distant ii-ie of pines.) 

Yonder tiie silver sickle moon, with one star, a diminutive arc 
light, throwing off ifj tiny rays in a continuous shower. 

(The cold gray wind has swept rh^ starry spaces cl>jan.) 

The skyline reveals no distances ; 'tis cs if the same canvas 
held the crescent and its sateiite. and the scurrying clouds, 
and the black pines. 

(The cold gray wind blows through heaven and earth alike.) 

The nearness of the heavens is as the common nearness of the 
earth, but the ghostly gray of the marsh and the Plutonian 
shade of the fringing rim are unearthly, in this clear air 
heaven is as near as earth, earth as unreal as heaven. 

(The cold gray wind blows through the soul, as through 
the pines, and the starry spaces.) 

'Tis the one moment of the day when the world is in the act 
of giving over earth's reign of light for lieaven's reign of 
darkness. 

"Out of the day's deceiving light " 
I stand, at th.'-eshold of the night ; 
I look toward heaven — 'tis day I see ; 
And earth's day forms, how dark they be I 

; he beauty of the heaven and the beauty of the earth are not 
apart, but make one whole. 

(The cold gray wind of Autumn sweeps on, as darkness 
slowly falls. ) 



DEC 21 let? 



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